“Very well,” said he, “you all agree.
As for the sentence, it is a just one; none of you
need throuble yourselves any farther about that; you
may take my word for it, that it will be carried into
execution. Are you willing it should?”

For the third time an unbroken silence. “That’s
enough,” said he; “and now let us go quietly
home.”

“It is not enough,” said a voice at the
door; “let none depart without my permission,
I command you;” and the words were no sooner
uttered than the venerable Father Roche entered the
house.

“Wretched and misguided men,” said he,
to what a scene of blood and crime have I just now
been an ear witness? Are you men who live under
my ministry?—­who have so often heard and
attended to my sincere and earnest admonitions?
I cannot think ye are, and yet, I see no face here
that is unknown to me. Oh, think for a moment,
reflect, if you can, upon what you have been doing!—­planning
the brutal, ungodly murder of two of your fellow creatures!
And What makes the crime still more revolting, these
two fellow creatures father and son. What constituted
you judges over them? If they have oppressed
you, and driven many of you to ruin and distress,
and even to madness, yet, do you not know that there
is a just God above to whom they must be accountable
for the deeds done in the flesh? Are you to put
yourselves in the place of the Almighty?—­to
snatch the sceptre of justice and judgment out of his
hands, and take that awful office into your own, which
belongs only to him? Are ye indeed mad, my friends?
Do you not know that out of the multitude assembled
here this moment there is not one of you whose life
would not be justly forfeited to the law? not one.
I paused at the half closed door before I entered,
and was thus enabled to hear your awful, your guilty,
your blasphemous proceedings. Justice belongs
to God, and in mocking justice you mock the God of
Justice.”

“But you don’t know, Father Roche,”
said O’Regan, “you couldn’t imagine
all the villany he and his son have been guilty of,
and all they’ve made the people suffer.”

“I do know it too well; and these are grievances
that God in his own good time will remove; but it
is not for us to stain our souls with guilt in order
to redress them. Now, my children, do you believe
that I feel an interest in your welfare, and in your
happiness hereafter? Do you believe this?”

“We do, sir; who feels for us as you do?”

“Well, then, will you give me a proof of this?”

“Name it, sir, name it.”

“I know you will,” continued the old man;
“I know you will. Then, in the name of
the merciful God, I implore, I entreat—­and,
if that will not do, then, as his servant, and the
humble minister of his word and will—­I
command you to disavow the murderous purpose you have
come to this night. Heavenly Father,” said
he, looking up with all the fervor of sublime piety,